the defensive, they were the first to violate the rules by forcing me into a pocket, in the next place it was also an infraction of the rules for a rider, or a number of riders to interfere with another rider. Without such unfair tactics it would not be necessary for me to undertake such dangerous risks, I only took such daring chances as a last resort; they were teaming, which was strictly against the rules, while I was playing the game single-handed in the big majority of my races, so under the circumstances the odds were so overwhelming that I always felt perfectly justified in getting out of a pocket in any manner possible, so long of course as I could do so without bringing anyone down; besides, my own neck was in jeopardy.
In extricating myself from these perilous positions I did not rely entirely on my quick jump but it was also a matter of perfect judgment, skill and daring required in timing a jump, and be able to flash through at the critical moment. At times it might be necessary to force matters by giving the riders' rear wheel directly ahead of me, a side slap with my front wheel by a quick jerk of my handle bar, this would frighten him and invariably cause him to swerve out a trifle, instantaniously I would kick through, and win the race. Incidentally I never once brought any rider down, which was remarkable, considering the hundreds of times I worked it. And I openly challenge and defy any track official to say that I ever willfully, accidentally, or otherwise threw another rider, or in any way did commit a dishonorable act in bicycle racing as long as I was connected with the game. I admit I was no angel, I had my faults, but in my honest opinion a real honest to goodness champion can always win on his merits.
On more than one occasion during my career it was my good fortune to enjoy many rare thrills, such as I imagine comparatively few people have ever been privileged to enjoy. It was the climax that followed a bitterly fought out victory over a vast field of competitors, who with their managers and trainers had concentrated both their mental and physical forces in figuring out and practicing certain tricks, and schemes for weeks, in order to trim the "nigger."
On the day set for the big race every rider trained to the minute and chock full of confidence, and keyed up to the highest pitch of nervous energy, and rareing to go. The stage all set, the final words of instructions whispered by their anxious trainers, the crack of the pistol sounded, and we were off with a wild dash tearing off speed they had never shown before.
I could only figure out the frame up as the race progressed, but instantly I detected their schemes, by a clever bit of jockeying or maneuvering I could invarably upset their crooked plans, and once their moral was destroyed they were thrown in a state of confusion, the rest was easy, I had only to rely on a well-timed jump in the home
